


against the dying of the light

by the__magpie



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pushing Daisies Fusion, Childhood Friends, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pie, Private Investigators, Pushing Daisies AU, Temporary Character Death, the dog dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-11-23 05:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11396460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the__magpie/pseuds/the__magpie
Summary: The facts were these:Yuuri Katsuki -  twenty-four years, seventeen days, twenty-one hours, and three minutes old; pie maker by day and dead-waking private investigator also by day - has just brought Victor Nikiforov - Grand Prix Final winner; childhood best friend; first kiss - back to life, mostly on accident.Though they can never touch, or Victor will go back to being dead, they can team up to solve the mystery of Victor's murder and, along the way, learn how to make this unexpected relationship work.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Okay, I know when I finished Yuuri Enchanted I promised an urban fantasy AU, but unfortunately that fic got stuck in the planning stages and I ended up working on this instead. Who knows if I'll ever actually write that fic, but in the meantime, I'll be writing this!
> 
> This AU is, of course, inspired by the show Pushing Daisies, and while the central idea and a few plot points will be present in this fic, I've kind of gone my own route. But the concept is so fun to work with and the original source material is so adorable, so it should be a lot of fun. :)
> 
> The title comes from that famous Dylan Thomas poem, "Do not go gentle into that good night."
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

At this very moment, Yuuri Katsuki was eight years, seven months, two days, and twenty-six minutes old. His dog, Vicchan, bouncing along the sidewalk chasing the ball that Yuuri had thrown, named for Yuuri’s best friend and next-door neighbor, was two years, five days, eleven hours, and nine minutes old. And not a minute older.

The tennis ball bounced off a mailbox and rolled into the street. Before Yuuri could call Vicchan back, the poodle chased after it, his tail flying, not seeing the truck that rounded the corner too quickly. It honked its horn once and disappeared down the street, leaving Vicchan unmoving on the pavement as the ball rolled slowly away. Yuuri, frozen on the sidewalk, was too shocked to let out a cry.

When Vicchan didn’t move after a few seconds, Yuuri took a step toward him, then another. Shaking from head to toe, he knelt down on the street. The pavement bit his knees through his jeans; tears blurred his eyes. Slowly, he reached out to run a hand through Vicchan’s curly fur and say a final goodbye.

But as soon as Yuuri’s fingers touched him, Vicchan sprang to his feet, barked twice, jumped around in a circle, and bounded after the retreating tennis ball. Very much alive.

Yuuri didn’t know it yet, but everything changed for him in that moment, because in that moment he discovered something about himself: he could touch dead things and bring them back to life.

For several seconds, Yuuri could only stare after Vicchan, who was running in circles on the sidewalk with the ball clamped in his mouth as if nothing had happened. He blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. He pinched himself hard and winced but didn’t wake up.

Then he stood up and looked around. The quiet street that he lived on was practically empty; everyone had escaped indoors from the scorching summer heat. The only person nearby was his neighbor Victor’s mom, watering her garden. She didn’t seem to have noticed anything over the sound of the hose. Yuuri swallowed hard and looked back at Vicchan, who dropped the ball to grin at him with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

Unbeknownst to Yuuri, a minute passed since Vicchan came back to life.

In the next yard over, Mrs. Nikiforov collapsed among her daisies.

Later, Yuuri would learn exactly what happened. He had brought Vicchan back to life for more than a minute, so another had to take his place. A life for a life. Mrs. Nikiforov happened to be the closest one, so she was the unlucky life that Yuuri traded so that his dog could live.

For Yuuri, the rest of that day was a blur. He remembered ambulances and police cars on their street. He remembered Victor – his best friend, his idol, the boy he was in love with – ten years, six months, six days, seven hours, and two minutes old – crying in Yuuri’s mother’s arms. He remembered that he wanted to say something but couldn’t think of anything, so he sat silently in the corner while everyone tried to work out what had happened to Mrs. Nikiforov. He remembered crawling into bed that night and reaching out to hug Vicchan, only for Vicchan to collapse on top of him at the touch of Yuuri’s fingers, while Yuuri’s scream cut through the house.

There, he learned the final part of this strange gift that he had somehow received. First touch: life. Second touch: dead again, forever.

At Victor’s mother’s funeral, Yuuri and Victor stood together in the back, hand in hand. Yuuri still didn’t know what to say, and to his relief Victor didn’t seem to want to talk anyway. But after the service, Victor kissed him, just once, on the lips. It was their first and only kiss.

After that, Victor left to live with his uncle Yakov, a retired figure skating champion. Yuuri watched him leave with guilt and confusion still whirling in his stomach, wishing he had told Victor what happened even if he didn’t understand it himself. It was the last time they would see each other in this life.

 

* * *

 

Now, Yuuri Katsuki was twenty-four years, seventeen days, twenty-one hours, and three minutes old. He had become a piemaker. Along with his best friend and business partner, Phichit Chulanont, Yuuri had opened Pie in the Sky, fulfilling his lifelong love of baking. The fruit never browned, as long as Yuuri only touched it once, and he made the best pies for miles around.

He had long since learned the rules of his gift and for years he vowed never to use it. That promise fell apart when he accidentally brought Phichit’s hamster back to life while they were roommates in college. After a miserable Yuuri explained his extraordinary ability, Phichit was struck with what he considered a brilliant idea. “You have this gift for a reason, so you might as well use it,” Phichit reasoned when Yuuri hesitated. “Plus, student loans are a bitch.” Yuuri couldn’t argue with that. So on top of running a pie shop, they also occasionally worked as private investigators. Solving murders was much easier when one could ask the victim who killed them and touch them again before a minute ran out.

On that particular day, a chilly morning in December, with few patrons in the shop, Phichit sat at the counter with a newspaper spread in front of him while Yuuri baked. This was a common arrangement; Phichit was the business one of the pair, while Yuuri was the baker. They both preferred it this way.

Phichit made a noise, bent over his newspaper. “Victor Nikiforov is in the paper again.”

Yuuri grunted, distracted, concentrating on rolling out his piecrust to the correct thickness. This news wasn’t surprising. His former neighbor had just won the Grand Prix and become one of the most decorated athletes in figure skating history. After they parted fifteen years ago, Victor had thrown himself into training, entering competitions within a year of his mother’s death and winning them almost immediately. Yuuri couldn’t deny that he felt a thrill of pride with every gold that Victor won, remembering the round faced, silver haired boy that he had grown up next to. He could still remember when Victor came home from his first skating lesson, practically bouncing with excitement, and tried to show Yuuri everything he had learned as they glided across kitchen tiles in their socks.

“Yuuri.” Phichit’s voice was suddenly serious, breaking Yuuri out of his thoughts. He frowned down at the crust. He had rolled it too thin; he would have to start over. Glancing up, he saw Phichit’s brow tighten into a frown.

“What’s wrong?”

“Yuuri . . .” Phichit pressed his lips together briefly. “Victor’s dead.”

Yuuri froze. Gripped the edge of the counter. Shook his head once, twice. He stepped back and his legs hit a stool and he sat down hard. “Dead?” he whispered.

Phichit looked back down at the newspaper, his eyes flying over the words. “Just yesterday. He was on a cruise ship, coming home after the Grand Prix Final, and he was found in the hallway, dead. Murdered.”

All the breath disappeared from Yuuri’s lungs. “Murdered?”

“Strangled.” Phichit’s was strained, as if the words were painful to say. “With a plastic bag.”

“Oh,” Yuuri breathed.

Frowning, Phichit looked up at him. “Yuuri, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Phichit didn’t appear convinced. “Are you sure?”

“I just . . . need a minute.”

Yuuri rested his elbows against the counter and dropped his head down until it almost touched the smooth marble surface. _Victor, dead_. It didn’t seem possible. Yuuri had watched him on TV just a few days ago as he skated his way to a gold metal, flying through the jumps and spins of a routine that nearly brought Yuuri to tears. Victor couldn’t be dead, not so soon after being so full of life as he poured himself out on the ice. Not before Yuuri could see him again – if Victor even remembered him still – and perhaps explain somehow what had happened to Victor’s mother. . .

“His body is being brought back to his hometown, where his uncle lives.” Phichit was reading from the paper again. “It’s not a public ceremony, but we could still go pay our respects. You know his uncle, don’t you?”

“Murdered.” The word finally seemed to process in Yuuri’s mind. He lifted his head up. “Phichit, we should find out who murdered him!”

Phichit narrowed his eyes. “You mean . . .?”

Yuuri nodded quickly. “There’s got to be some reward money for it, right?”

Phichit snorted. “This isn’t about reward money and we both know it. I don’t think this is a good idea, Yuuri. Besides, I’m sure actual investigators are already looking into it.”

“We’ll be able to solve it faster than any of them. Besides, if we figure it out, maybe we can have some closure. Or, you know, I can.” He frowned, wondering how to explain to someone that you accidentally killed their mother fifteen years ago in under a minute. “We were friends when we were young. I haven’t seen him since I was eight, but I kind of . . .” He flushed red. “I had a crush on him.”

“‘ _Had_ ’?” Phichit repeated incredulously.

Yuuri waved him away. “Can we do this? Please? I think it will be a good thing. Think of Yakov, and all the skating fans all over the world who will want to know what happened.”

Phichit hesitated. “If you’re sure.”

“It’ll be fine,” Yuuri promised. “Don’t worry.”

 

* * *

 

They arrived at the funeral home in the early afternoon. The place was nearly empty and absolutely silent, as funeral homes are typically expected to be. Phichit spoke to the funeral director, who let them into the room where the casket lay.

“Do you mind if I do this one alone?” Yuuri asked Phichit, speaking in an undertone as if a raised voice could wake the dead as easily as the touch of his finger. “There are some things I want to say to him.”

“Things you can’t say in front of me?”

“Um. Private things. Closure, Phichit, closure.”

Phichit gave him a long, careful look, then seemed to decide that Yuuri wasn’t about to break down, and nodded. “I’ll be waiting out here.”

He stepped out of the room while Yuuri moved closer to the casket. Long and sleek and black, yet it hardly seemed appropriate to carry Victor Nikiforov to his eternal rest. For a long time, he simply stared, mentally steeling himself.

Finally, he held his breath and reached out to lift the casket open. The sight of the body lying there was somehow worse than what he had imagined. Victor was pale in death; his skin was almost the color of his hair. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, his eyes closed, his hands folded over his stomach. Even though there were no visible signs that he had been murdered, it looked utterly, fundamentally wrong to see someone who should be so alive to be so still and cold. Yuuri’s entire body froze.

Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he allowed himself a few moments before he looked again. He traced Victor’s face with his eyes, the face that looked so familiar yet so different from the last time he had seen it in person. The years had sharpened and defined his features, adding a delicate beauty that had enchanted the world while he skated. Yuuri could look at that face for days.

Instead, he swallowed hard and looked down at his watch. He waited until the second hand was about to hit twelve, then reached toward Victor, his finger hovering over cold skin. He inhaled slowly and touched Victor’s cheek.

“WHA—!”

Victor sat bolt upright with a sharp cry, almost hitting Yuuri’s hand again as Yuuri yelped and stumbled backward. For a moment, Victor blinked around at himself and Yuuri couldn’t speak, caught by those impossibly bright blue eyes.

“I had the strangest dream that I was being strangled to death with a plastic bag,” Victor muttered.

“Um,” Yuuri said, looking pointedly at the casket.

Victor followed his eyes and frowned. “Oh.” He squinted at Yuuri. “What’s going on?”

“Well, you’re dead, but you’re alive right now, but only for a minute – well, less than that now,” Yuuri said, speaking quickly. “Sorry, we don’t have much time.”

“You seem familiar. Do I know you?”

Something in Yuuri’s chest jolted. “Um, I don’t know if you remember, but I lived next door when we were kids, before your mom died—”

Victor’s eyes widened and his mouth spread into a wide smile. “Yuuri Katsuki! Of course I remember you!” Before Yuuri could stop him, he had leapt out of the casket and started toward him with outstretched arms, heading for a hug. Yuuri quickly backed away.

“When I touch you, you’ll go right back to being dead,” he said in response to the frown that crossed Victor’s face. “I need to know who killed you.”

Victor scratched the back of his neck. “Wish I could tell you. I was just having a nice night watching the moon on the ocean when someone came up behind me with a plastic bag and strangled me. Never saw a face or heard a voice.”

“So you don’t know.” Yuuri’s heart fell.

“How much time do I have?”

Yuuri glanced at his watch. “Twenty seconds.”

“Wow.” Victor blinked quickly. “So you touch me and I’m dead again?”

Yuuri nodded.

“Okay.” Victor nodded solemnly. “I’m glad I got to see you again, Yuuri.”

“Me too,” Yuuri murmured. There wasn’t time to say everything that he wanted to say. “You . . . um, you were my first kiss.”

A small smile appeared on Victor’s lips. “You were my first kiss too.” He dropped his eyes briefly and looked back up through his lashes in a way that made Yuuri’s breath catch. “Would you like to be my last?”

“You wouldn’t think that’s weird?” Yuuri whispered.

“I think that’s perfect.”

Locking eyes, they moved closer. Victor leaned forward and Yuuri moved to follow, getting as close to Victor as he could get.

Victor’s eyes were closed but there was a slight flush to his cheeks. Yuuri didn’t want to see that flush fade away and feel that skin turn cold and clammy. He didn’t want to watch that long, beautiful body crumple to the floor as he had watched his mother’s fifteen years ago. He paused, his lips a fraction of an inch away from Victor’s

The second hand on his watch hit twelve again. The minute ran out and Victor was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments give me life! Also, [feel free to come talk to me on tumblr](%E2%80%9Cwecalleverythinglove.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)!


	2. Chapter 2

Victor Nikiforov was twenty-seven years, eleven months, twenty-one days, seventeen hours, and five minutes old when he died. One moment he was there, alive, breathing, and the next he wasn’t. Then he woke up as if from a deep sleep to find himself looking into a pair of wide, familiar brown eyes and listening to rushed, confusing explanations of why he was alive again.

Exactly sixty seconds from the moment that Yuuri Katsuki brought him back to life, Victor opened his eyes again. Yuuri still hadn’t kissed him. Instead, Yuuri stared at him, mere hairsbreadths away, looking like he was thinking very hard, very fast.

“So you don’t want to kiss me?” Victor tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. It had seemed like such a poetic way to go.

“You know . . .” Yuuri started, retreating an inch. “You don’t actually have to be dead.”

Victor’s eyebrows rose. “Well, I can’t say I would complain about that.”

Yuuri spun away before Victor could say anything more, crossing his arms tight over his chest and pacing in a small circle. Watching him, Victor’s memory flashed back to the boy he had grown up next to – tiny and chubby, always looking up to Victor with adoring eyes. He had certainly grown up, as Victor had; his glasses and rumpled hair disguised a casual handsomeness that many wouldn’t notice unless they looked twice. It had been years since Victor had been back to his hometown, but Yuuri – his first friend, his first kiss – had never completely left his thoughts.

Without warning, Yuuri let out a sharp gasp and ran toward the door, throwing it open and stumbling through. Whatever he saw there must have reassured him, because his shoulders slumped and he leaned back against the doorframe. Curious, Victor moved to see what he was looking at, but Yuuri cast him a quick, almost panicked look and moved an arm in front of the door to block Victor’s passage.

“Learn anything?” asked a voice from the lobby outside.

“No. Yes. Uh . . .” Yuuri glanced at Victor again, his eyes wide. Ignoring Yuuri’s outstretched arm, Victor poked his head through the doorway to see who he was talking to. A young man with dark skin and dark hair jumped to his feet, his mouth falling open.

“He’s still alive?” the man hissed. “How long has it been?”

“More than a minute,” Yuuri muttered.

“Then someone . . .” A horrified look crossed the other man’s face. “I was in the next room!”

“I know!” Yuuri groaned. “I wasn’t thinking, Phichit.”

“What are you doing to do?”

“He’s coming with us.”

“I am?” Victor cut in, figuring it was about time he had some say in this matter. The other man jumped at the sound of his voice as if he had forgotten that Victor could speak.

“Until we figure this out, you’re staying with me,” Yuuri said, squaring his shoulders and sounding much more sure than he had a few moments before.

The other man – who Yuuri called Phichit – exited the funeral home first, making sure that no one was watching them, then waved Yuuri and Victor through to the street outside where Yuuri’s car was parked. Victor slid into the back seat and Phichit handed him sunglasses and a beanie to pull low over his face after a few moments of rifling through the glove box. Then they were off, driving a little too fast, as Yuuri gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Do you think this counts as bodysnatching?” Victor asked, trying to ease the tense atmosphere that radiated through the car.

“Victor,” Yuuri said, his voice sounding pained.

“It probably doesn’t count if the body comes willingly,” he mused. Leaning forward against the back of the passenger seat, his stuck his head up between the two of them as they kept their eyes locked to the road ahead. “So how does this work, Yuuri? You can bring dead things back to life with a touch?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“And you touch them again and they go back to being dead. Simple enough. How long have you been able to do this?”

Yuuri’s hands tightened on the steering wheel; it looked as though he was trying to strangle it. “I’ve known about it for fifteen years.”

“Do you make a habit of bringing childhood sweethearts back to life?”

“No. Just you.” Yuuri’s tense shoulders dropped slightly. “We were sweethearts?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“I told you you were my first kiss, didn’t I?” Victor smiled at the memory, even if its circumstances stung a wound that had never fully healed. “I never told you this, but I had a tiny crush on you back then.”

“Really?” A smile found its way onto Yuuri’s lips and a pink flush covered his ears. “I . . . well, um, I . . .”

“He had a huge crush on you,” Phichit reported, watching the exchange from the passenger seat with an irrepressible grin on his face. “Did you know he watches you skate in every competition, even the small, qualifying ones that they don’t show on TV? He hunts down livestreams online just for you.”

“Phichit!” Yuuri’s flush deepened.

Delighted, Victor turned to Yuuri. “You watch me skate?”

“Of course I do.” Yuuri didn’t look away from the road, but he was blinking quickly behind his glasses. “I’ve always loved watching you skate. Even when we were kids.”

“I’m glad.” Victor sat back slightly, the smile fading from his lips as a new thought occurred to him. “Although . . . I suppose I can’t do it anymore, if I’m supposed to be dead.”

“Oh.” Yuuri and Phichit’s smiles disappeared as well.

“This was a bad idea,” Phichit muttered, suddenly serious.

“We’ll make it work,” Yuuri said quietly.

For a few minutes, none of them said anything. Victor stared out the window at the drab winter landscape passing by and tried to sort out how he felt. No more skating – he could live with that. He was twenty-seven years old; he was probably going to retire within the next year or two anyway. Of course he would miss it, but surely his entire life wasn’t defined by figure skating.

He didn’t know if he was supposed to feel different now that he had died and come back to life, but he didn’t. He felt exactly the same, if perhaps a little backwards and more than a little confused. The world outside the car window looked no different than it had before he died; he hadn’t had any great revelations during his brief trip to the beyond. He was still Victor Nikiforov, with the same body, the same mind as ever.

“I can’t see my uncle, can I?” he asked. The thought of his uncle stung; he wouldn’t be faring well after his murder. And more than that – Victor knew that he had fans all over the world, and the prospect of them mourning him wasn’t pleasant.

“Nobody can know,” Yuuri said, looking up to briefly meet Victor’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Not even your uncle. I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” Victor said. “I think. How many people know about what you can do?”

“Everyone who knows is in this car.”

Victor raised his eyebrows. “So who are you?” he asked, turning to Phichit.

“Oh, right.” Phichit stuck a hand backward toward Victor. “Phichit Chulanont.”

Eyeing the outstretched hand cautiously, Victor said, “I can touch you, right?”

“Right. It’s only Yuuri with the touch of death.”

Yuuri winced visibly. “Don’t call it that.”

“I’m Yuuri’s business partner slash best friend,” Phichit said as Victor shook his hand. “We solve murders. Yuuri’s gift makes it much easier to track down murderers, and it doesn’t make bad money either.”

“You touch murder victims, bring them back to life, ask who killed them, touch them again, and they go back to being dead?” Victor said. “And then you collect the reward.”

“That makes it sound so scheming,” Yuuri muttered. “There’s some real detective work involved, most of the time. This just makes it faster.”

“That’s what you were doing with me,” Victor realized. “It wasn’t just a goodbye. You were trying to find my murderer, right?”

“It wasn’t just that,” Yuuri said quietly. Phichit glanced sideways at him but said nothing, and Victor dropped the subject, still trying to wrap his mind around everything. _Murdered._ He honestly wasn’t sure whether he should feel affronted or flattered that he had died in such a way. Somehow it made him seem awfully distinguished, to be worth murdering.

Before long, they pulled onto an unassuming street in front of a bakery with the words _Pie in the Sky_ painted on the front in fancy script. Curious, Victor followed Yuuri and Phichit out of the car when they parked, wondering if they were stopping for a bite to eat. At the thought, his stomach growled. Was he supposed to be hungry after he died? This whole situation was going to take some figuring out.

A bell over the door jingled when they pushed it open, revealing a few tables with pie-eating customers and a boy a few years younger than Yuuri who waved from behind the counter.

“Hi, boss! Everything was fine while you were gone, but we’re running low on peach. I thought I’d leave that for you to make, since Guang-Hong’s aren’t as good as yours.”

“Thanks, Leo,” Yuuri said, moving behind the counter as he pulled off his coat and scarf. “Is your shift over? You can head out for the day if you like.”

Victor stopped in his tracks. “Yuuri! This is your shop?”

Blinking in surprise, Yuuri looked up. “Oh, yes. Didn’t I mention?”

“No!” A smile spread across Victor’s face. “This is wonderful! You always talked about opening a pie shop when we were kids.”

A slight flush colored Yuuri’s cheeks and he busied his hands with straightening out a mug of pens on the counter. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

Phichit, who had been watching them with a sly smile, grabbed Victor’s elbow and dragged him toward the counter. “Yuuri, I can take care of everything down here. Why don’t you show Victor somewhere he can rest? He’s probably tired.”

“Right.” Yuuri beckoned to Victor, leading him behind the counter and into the kitchen, where another boy was vigorously mixing something in a bowl. Waving to him, Yuuri walked to a door at the back, which opened to a staircase going up. Victor followed a few steps behind.

The stairs brought them to a landing that led off to two separate doors, one marked with a _Y_ , one with a _P_. “Phichit and I both have apartments up here,” Yuuri explained, unlocking the _Y_ door. “I have plenty of space in mine. You can take my bed and I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Inside, the apartment was modestly furnished – the home of someone who spent little time here and didn’t put much weight on material comforts. Yuuri walked him around the kitchen, living room, and bathroom, then pointed out the bedroom where Victor would stay. He talked fast, never stopping long enough to look directly at Victor, and it occurred to Victor that Yuuri had barely met his eyes since they left the funeral home.

“Yuuri,” he said, interrupting as Yuuri rambled about where to find clean sheets. He reached out and touched Yuuri’s arm, making Yuuri jump and jerk out of reach.

“You shouldn’t do that.”

“You’re wearing a sweater.”

“But what if there was a hole in the sweater? What if . . . what if I had rolled up my sleeves right before and you didn’t notice?”

“Okay.” Victor frowned at Yuuri, who was staring at the carpet with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his shoulders hunched. “Yuuri. What’s going on?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

Yuuri huffed out a breath, letting his shoulders fall slightly. His eyes flickered upward to meet Victor’s at last. “I’m sorry. I know you must have a lot of questions—”

“Only a few thousand.”

“—but I’m still trying to figure this out. I haven’t exactly done this before.”

“So let me help you.”

When Yuuri only looked down again, Victor reached out and carefully grabbed the corner of Yuuri’s sleeve. Yuuri tensed but didn’t jump away this time, letting Victor pull him toward the kitchen table. They sat down opposite each other and Victor waited for Yuuri to speak.

“I only have one rule with this gift,” Yuuri said quietly. “I don’t let anyone that I’ve awoken stay alive for longer than a minute. That’s it. It’s to make sure I’m careful with it and don’t overstep any boundaries. And now I’ve broken that rule.”

“Is it so terrible that you brought me back to life? I mean, I’m certainly not complaining.”

“Of course I’m glad you’re not dead. But . . .” Yuuri hesitated, his eyes darting around the room, and Victor got the strange feeling that there was something Yuuri wasn’t telling him. “Well, you died. Bringing you back to life had to – I don’t know – upset the balance of the universe. Or something.”

“Why _did_ you keep me alive?” Victor asked. The question had been at the back of his mind since they left the funeral home, but it hadn’t seemed right to ask it before now.

“I . . .” Yuuri trailed off, and for a few moments Victor thought he was going to deflect the question. Then he looked up to meet Victor’s eyes. “I couldn’t do it. I saw you there, alive, and I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing you dead again. Because you’re . . .” He shook his head, looking frustrated. “You’re Victor Nikiforov. You’re not _supposed_ to be dead. You’re supposed to be alive and smiling and looking at me with those eyes and . . .” He stopped. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Victor didn’t know what his face looked like, but whatever it was had Yuuri blushing fiercely. “Are you sure I can’t hug you right now?”

“I . . .” Yuuri blinked quickly, then shook his head. “No, you can’t.”

“Ugh.” Victor dropped his head onto the table. “But what if I really want to hug you? What if you need a hug? What if I want to hold your hand?”

“No hugs. No hand holding.” Yuuri sounded regretful.

Victor looked up, resting his chin on his hands and smiling. “So a kiss is out of the question?”

Yuuri’s blush deepened. “You’re not making this any easier.”

“You know, I’ve thought about you a lot since we were young.”

“I have too,” Yuuri said solemnly.

“I always wanted to contact you, but after my mother died and I moved in with Uncle Yakov, I got so caught up in skating that everything else fell by the wayside.”

“I understand,” Yuuri said. “I didn’t expect you to. I thought you would forget about me.”

“Yuuri. I could never forget about you.” Victor made a movement to take Yuuri’s hand, only to remember halfway there and stop. Noticing this, Yuuri frowned. Slowly, he stretched out his sweater to cover his hand, placing it down on the table between them.

“You can . . .” he said shyly. “If you want . . .”

Smiling, Victor placed a hand over Yuuri’s, squeezing it. Then he lifted it up a pressed a kiss to Yuuri’s sweater-covered knuckles. A grin fought its way onto Yuuri’s face, the first real smile that Victor had seen from him. Something in his chest squeezed.

“I should get back downstairs,” Yuuri said, standing up abruptly, his hand pulling out of Victor’s grasp. “I have pie to make.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“You must be tired. You can take my bed to sleep, and there’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” Yuuri cleared his throat, once again avoiding Victor’s eyes as he backed away. “We’ll talk more later.”

Then he was gone. Victor sat back in his chair and looked around the empty apartment.

He wasn’t really tired – after all, he had just been dead for a day. Food sounded good, but what he wanted more than that was information. Moving around the apartment, he found a newspaper on the kitchen counter, open to the page that announced his death. He couldn’t help but find the situation a little ridiculous – how many people get to read about their own death in the newspaper?

In the living room, he found a tiny, ancient TV, which he switched on and flicked through channels until he found what he was looking for. The headline at the bottom of the screen recounted the details of his death while the reporter spoke quickly: _“—recent winner of the men’s figure skating Grand Prix final. Nikiforov, age twenty-seven, is mourned by his uncle and coach, Yakov Feltsman, and rinkmates.”_

Victor sat down hard on the couch when the screen switched to a photograph of his own body, lying on its side on the deck of a cruise ship, facing away from the camera, surrounded by police tape and uniformed officers. The second blow came when a video of his uncle popped up. Yakov was scowling, as usual, but Victor could see the bags under his eyes, which were more pronounced than usual.

 _“I told Victor not to go on that cruise_ ,” Yakov growled into the microphone a reporter held up to his face. _“It was stupid and indulgent. And what does he do? Goes and gets himself killed.”_

Victor swallowed hard. He knew that Yakov wasn’t truly angry – it was the way he had dealt with his sister, Victor’s mother’s, death, and the way he was now dealing with Victor’s – but the words stung nonetheless. Being alive, and Yakov not knowing, felt all wrong.

 _“Nikiforov was found suffocated to death close to midnight last night,”_ the reporter went on. “ _The mystery of his death is still being investigated. If you have any information regarding the murder of Victor Nikiforov, his uncle is willing to offer a significant financial reward.”_

Victor stood and switched off the TV, not wanting to listen to any more. For a few moments, he was still. Then he moved toward the door of the apartment, opening it and walking down the steps to the shop below.

Yuuri was the only one in the kitchen; Phichit was in the shop serving customers. For a few moments, Yuuri didn’t notice Victor’s arrival, concentrating on the crust he was rolling out. When Victor cleared his throat, Yuuri finally looked up and smiled.

“Hi again. Why aren’t you resting?”

“I’m not tired. Yuuri—”

“Are you hungry? Would you like some pie?”

“I—” Victor stopped. “Actually, some pie would be amazing.”

“Grab a slice of that blueberry there.”

Victor followed where he pointed, cutting a generous slice for himself onto a plate. When he took the first bite, his reason for coming downstairs flew out of his mind. “Yuuri, this is amazing!”

Yuuri’s smile widened, which was almost as gratifying as the pie itself. “You think so?”

“Without a doubt, this is the best pie I’ve ever eaten.” Victor shoveled another forkful into his mouth. “I’m never going to stop eating this!”

Yuuri laughed, and the sound of it brought butterflies to life in Victor’s stomach. When Yuuri looked at him with shining eyes, Victor could do nothing but smile back, captivated.

“I’m glad you like it,” Yuuri said. “I can’t eat it myself because I use fruit that I bring back to life.”

That reminded Victor of his reason for coming down. “Yuuri, I wanted to ask you something.” He set his pie down reluctantly and Yuuri’s smile died a little.

“What’s wrong?”

“Would I be alive if I knew who killed me?”

Yuuri put aside his rolling pin. “What do you mean?”

“If you had brought me to life and I told you who the murderer was, would you have touched me again and gone on to collect the reward from my uncle?”

“No,” Yuuri said immediately. “That’s not what this is about, Victor. I . . . I don’t want you to be dead. I mean, I didn’t go into that room planning to keep you alive, but once I saw you, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’d considered it, of course, but not decided. I didn’t decide until the last second, and I don’t regret my decision.”

Victor nodded. “Okay.”

Yuuri still looked uncertain. “You believe me?”

“Of course I do. And I was thinking . . .” Victor leaned sideways against the counter. “We still don’t know who killed me.”

“Right.”

“So let’s solve it.”

Yuuri’s eyebrows shot up. “Solve your murder?”

“Solve my murder.” Victor grinned. “I don’t like not knowing why someone wanted me dead. And it would be easier with me to help you with some of the clues, right?”

“I guess so.” Yuuri looked down at his pie crust, a smile spreading across his face. “Solve your murder. Why not?”

“So we’ll do it?”

“We’ll do it.” Yuuri looked up and called out to Phichit at the front of the shop. “Hey, Phichit! We have a murder to solve!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victor is super chill about being dead ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> Come find me on [tumblr](%E2%80%9Cwecalleverythinglove.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)!


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